Not a cougar, but a puma.  I’ve seen cougars, and frankly they are quite scary.  Two of them were at the gym last night, in theory to “work out,” but in reality to scope out the merchandise.  One of them was wearing a sports bra, apparently because she had flat abs.  This may have been true, but the loose skin over it was not meant to be shown in public.  Maybe with some soft-core porn lighting, but not at the gym.  Put that away, old woman!  It’s not attractive.  I can’t even begin to explain what the other one was doing, other than doing some weird abdominal exercise which required her legs to be in the air and her pelvic bone to be off the ground.  I’m no nasty cougar, but if I’m going to do an exercise that requires me to be in something resembling a sexual position, I do it in the corner.  Or the bedroom. 

So back to my puma aspirations.  I have decided that I’m not going to date guys in their 30’s.  I have found that they have serious frat boy issues, are unable to commit, and basically find too many things wrong with me.  THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME.  I AM PERFECT.  GET OVER YOURSELF.  This behavior, while annoying, was okay when I was in my twenties.  I figured I’d have plenty of time to find “Mr. Right.”  Turns out that all the potential Mr. Rights have gotten down on one knee and proposed, and now have Mrs. Right at 2.5 kids, while the older fellas are still chasing skirts and not caring who they hurt. 

My reasoning for going after the 30-somethings in the past was that I figured they’d be done with this playboy lifestyle and get ready to have a party (with me wearing a pretty white dress), settle down, and impregnante me.  Speaking to my 30-something guy friends (who of course all want to sleep with, but not date, me), as well as guys I’ve gone on actual dates on, they just want to do the horizontal mambo without the party, settling, or babies.  Really?  You can’t be an adult? 

So I have decided to go after a 20-something, and teach him how it’s done.  Now if I could just find one…

These are the types of guys I date.

“OMG, you write so well.  You should be a writer!”  First of all, I despise the use of OMG, LOL, U, UR, B, and anything else that makes one look lazy.  Just take the time to type it out.  At this point, the majority of us has grown up on computers, and now that there’s iPhones (the devil), Crackberries, and other “smart” phones (although until they can tell me which guys suck before I date them, they are not that smart), there is really no reason to not type things out.  Point being, if you want to comment, take the extra 5 seconds to spell out actual words.  And check your spelling.  And grammar.

Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I’ll share why I’ve started a blog that no sane person will care about reading.  I welcome the insane, however.  I have quite a bit to say.  At 33 years old, having lived in 4 different states, dated more guys than I care to think about, and just generally a person who observes the world, I’d like to share what I’ve learned.

A little about me:

I grew up in a state with legalized prostitution.

I lived in a state that rains too much (I only lived there for 5 months, because all that rain was leading to very bad thoughts).

I then moved back to the prostitution state to finish college with a degree that is completely useless.

I then moved to a state which cares more about baseball (go Red Sox) than it does about the quality of the roads.  The people there are assholes.

I then moved to a state which I haven’t figured out yet, except that I’m over the fog.

I have a job that I’m not thrilled with.  I had an epiphany recently and realized that I’m in the wrong career.  Now I just need to do something about it.

I’m single.  Dating blows.

…and that’s enough for today.  Happy Sunday.